


Marin

by yeaka



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Link's Awakening
Genre: Gen, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2019-11-04
Packaged: 2021-02-01 01:23:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21312811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Link almost remembers.
Kudos: 19





	Marin

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Just finished [Brycemase’s awesome LP](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZWBFJ0ftcBo&list=PLfcejBUbhSFFQL9tbpbiQSHq0tWP4bhXi&index) of an old fav of mine.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Legend of Zelda or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

The gulls are singing outside the window of his hut, and that finally cuts the cords of Link’s lingering dream. He lets his eyes blink open to the bright morning sun, streaming in between the curtains. Link parts his lips and lets out a languid yawn. He stretches out his arms, his old bones cracking and creaking as he shifts beneath the blankets. It takes him a moment to manage even just sitting up—his back seems to worsen with every passing day.

His favourite rabbit slippers are waiting on the floor, and Link steps into them as soon as he’s squirmed free of the sheets. He gathers his green bathrobe from over the chair tucked into his desk—the day is young and warm, but he always feels cold. Some nights, he dreams of a magic wand that could light fire with ease, but it’s never around when he needs it in the real world. He hobbles over to the kitchen sink and rinses his teeth, then sets the pot down on the stove, turning it up high. He takes his seat at the kitchen table while he waits for the water to boil, eyes cast out the window across the gentle sea. The blue sky is only dotted with a few rolling clouds, otherwise clear and beautiful. The breeze rustles past the feathers of pure-white birds. Sometime, Link thinks he can hear singing on that wind. 

He lets his eyes fall closed, and memories stir—deep-rooted but just out of reach. He had one of those dreams again. They always feel so familiar, so vivid and _real_, but then he wakes up, and those precious moments flood through his fingers like fading sand. All that he has left is the hazy, ephemeral image of a woman’s face. He can just barely pick out the orange-red hue of her flowing hair, and the pretty red flower she always wears in it. He thinks she’s smiling. She always is when he thinks of her. He remembers sitting on a beach with her, one fine day so very many years ago, though he’s never been to a beach quite like the one that he pictures. She speaks to him in a low, melodic voice, while he watches the waves. 

The kettle whistles as steam spouts of it. It startles Link awake again. The memory disappears as quickly as it came. Link groans and pushes to his feet, shambling over to have his morning tea.


End file.
